


Extraordinaire

by holyhael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Character, Disabled Character, F/F, Fallen Angels, Fallen Hael, Femslash, Hunter Claire, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4749551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyhael/pseuds/holyhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn’t hear the woman’s footsteps, but the next thing Hael knows, the curtain is pulled back by a pale woman in patterned scrubs. Her eyes - burning, familiar - transfix Hael, and she knows.</p><p>“You’re not a nurse,” Hael says. Her blood turns cold, a compliment to her pebbled skin.</p><p>The woman sort of smirks. “And you’re not a human. Not really.”</p><p>Then what is she? Is she anything at all?</p><p>She feels human. What can only be described as <i>fear</i> pounds against her chest, making every humid breath she takes in shallow, widening her eyes, closing up her throat. She’s never been conscious of her own mortality before; it was different with Castiel - she didn’t see the blade coming. There won’t be any coming back if she dies this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [spn femslash mini bang](http://spnfemminibang.livejournal.com), and largely written before it was announced claire novak would return in season 10
> 
> many thanks to everyone who's supported me through the long journey of writing this thing: [autumn](http://kirargent.tumblr.com) for her invaluable comments and suggestions, [laana](http://dumplingdean.tumblr.com) for giving me motivation when i thought i would have to give up, many of my tumblr followers when i needed help with words and other things, and [prakriti](http://misplaced-my-grace.tumblr.com/) for her amazing last-minute beta work. i couldn't have done this without everybody's support <333
> 
> also [ali](http://nosignofwings.tumblr.com) deserves a huge round of applause for the wonderful art she made!! i would seriously consider tattooing it on my person if i wasn't so afraid of needles and that the tattoo artist would mess up somehow. see it on [deviantart](http://xcryforthemoon.deviantart.com/art/Extraordinare-Hael-x-Claire-559176184) and tell her it's lovely.
> 
> ps you can find me at tumblr @[holyhael](holyhael.tumblr.com)

When she opens her eyes, she sees stars, as bright as an angel's grace, lightyears and lightyears away. Just twenty four hours ago, Hael could have visited those stars, the planets that orbit them. What would have happened to her if she had been on some distant planet when the angels were cast out of Heaven? Would she have fallen onto that planet's surface? Returned to Earth, where she belonged? Some angels aren’t as tied to Earth as Hael and her siblings are; they hold dominion over other worlds, though they visit Earth as well. What happened to them? Where are they?

Hael doesn’t have time to wonder before pain hits her, and every rational thought ceases.

It’s not like the pain of her wings being stripped of their feathers and broken. It’s not like the pain of an angel blade cutting into her skin. This pain is much more physical, and though it doesn’t feel more significant than any pain she felt before, it’s _everywhere_.

Her eyes are wet, her vision blurry as she sits up, palms in the wet grass and dirt to hold her up. She blinks several times to clear her eyes, but it’s dark, and she can’t see anything save for the stars and silhouettes. Odd. She should be able to see everything, from a particular leaf to the tracks of an animal a mile away.

She rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand, but her vision doesn’t clear.

Maybe she’s been blinded.

But still, there are stars above her head.

Hael collapses onto her back and stares up at them, twinkling so distantly. She thinks of the stars and not of the pain, and eventually oblivion washes over her.

What a kind thing.

+

_Beep, beep, beep_.

“BP ninety over sixty.”

_Beep._

“A little low, but not worrisome.”

_Beep, beep_.

“Miss, are you awake? Can you hear me?”

“No….”

+

There is light.

Though her eyes are closed, she can still see it, red orange painted against her eyelids. There are people talking nearby, though she can’t distinguish their exact words. Why can’t she hear every slight intonation, the click of their tongues against their teeth, their every inhale and exhale? Even after the Fall, Hael had these abilities, but now all she can do is tell there is a conversation happening nearby with at least three participants.

There must be something very wrong with her. Her vessel feels wrong, gauzy, thin. She can’t open her eyes. Nothing makes sense.

_Maybe I_ am _going blind. And experiencing hearing loss as well_. Do angels cast out of Heaven progressively lose their sensory faculties, becoming almost as human as the ones they’ve been forced to walk amongst?

A chill seeps into her veins.

“Jane Doe’s awake!”

The voice comes from so close that Hael startles, eyes flying open. A human woman stands above her with fiery hair and a device hanging around her neck. So Hael isn’t blind after all, but there is something wrong with her vision: the spectrum she sees is significantly limited, and there’s a blurriness to everything. Where did all the color and distinctness go?

“What-?” Hael rasps out. Her voice is barely more than a painful whisper. She swallows down, the movement less fluid than normal and more scratchy. Her vessel is degrading -

The woman’s hand comes down on Hael’s forehead, which is greasy and unpleasant under the woman’s cold touch. Hael flinches, but the woman coos softly. Even though she’s a stranger, everything about her presence tells Hael to trust her. Still, Hael’s heart beats wildly in time with an irritating beeping to her left.

“Miss?” Another voice, on her right. Hael darts her eyes over to see an aged man. He has more hair on his chin than he does his head. “Miss, are you alright? Do you understand me?”

Yes, she can, but that doesn’t mean she understands what’s going on. Her breath comes fast. The woman’s hand retracts from her forehead and rests on her shoulder.

“Can you understand me?”

Hael nods. Her throat clogs up.

“Deep breaths, miss,” the woman says. Hael looks at her. She’s much more soothing than the man. Hael follows her direction, though her chest shakes with every breath. The woman glances over to the man briefly, and something passes over her expression, but then her eyes soften and are back on Hael. “Good job, miss. What’s your name?”

Hael has to swallow again, or else whatever’s blocking her throat will come up instead of words. “Hael,” she says.

“I’ll get you some water, Hael; it’ll help you feel better.” The woman looks at the man again, and then she leaves. Hael watches her until she disappears behind a door.

“Hael, do you know where you are?”

The man’s beady eyes bore down on her. Hael averts her gaze to his pale, leathery hands where they grip the metal railing on the side of the bed she’s laying on.

She can’t say why this man inspires such terror within her.

Whether she’s unable or unwilling to speak is also a mystery. Hael shakes her head.

“You’re at Longmont United Hospital. You were brought in early yesterday morning after a motorist spotted you on the side of the road. Do you remember how you got there?”

Yes, she does, but she doesn’t tell this man - who must be a doctor - that. She shakes her head again, and he goes on.

“You were treated for your cuts; several broken bones including your right ankle, your thigh, and an undisplaced fracture on your right kneecap.” He taps Hael’s raised leg with his finger. “You dislocated your left hip, you have burns on your chest, and a stab wound in the gut. You were banged up pretty good.”

Hael takes this all in. No wonder her vessel hurt so much when she initially woke up, but why didn’t she heal? It doesn’t usually take a conscious effort on her part to restore her vessel with her grace, so why didn’t she heal? As the man drones on about her injuries, Hael concentrates on healing, but it’s for naught. Not even a spark of power quivers in her fingers.

Where did her grace go?

Is she-

Human?

What else could she be?

The woman comes back with a glass of water, snapping Hael out of her thoughts, and the doctor’s voice drifts back to her ears as she drinks small sips, as the woman instructs her. “… It’ll take a some time for you to be able to walk again, and it could be very painful. We have a physical therapist who’ll walk you through range of motion exercises once you’re feeling up to it. We have a wheelchair for you if you’d like to get around. It’s folded up against the wall; just ask a nurse to help you into it. You can graduate to crutches or a cane once the physical therapist sees positive improvement in your hip.”

Hael removes the drained glass from her lips and the woman places it on the table beside the bed.

“Is there anyone we can call for you? Any family?”

Would her family care? Castiel surely didn’t, though he’s not exactly representative of angels. Anna might have cared: when she was alive, she indulged Hael’s fascination with art and nature, though Anna was much more interested in the emotions of humans and their drives. Most other angels found Hael’s attraction unnecessary and queer. To them, art held no purpose, but to Hael, it is everything.

She shakes her head. How did her thoughts become so derailed from the doctor’s question? How do humans function like this?

She shakes her head again.

+

The hospital is boring.

The kind female nurse, who tells Hael her name is Josephine, gives her a remote to control the television affixed to the wall opposite her bed. It’s the only reprieve from the dullness she gets, although it isn’t terribly interesting. From what she gathers of the most gripping program, a man and a woman who investigate federal crimes are romantically involved, but frustratingly there’s no chemistry between them - Hael has more chemistry with the remote that raises and lowers her bed than the onscreen couple do - and the show’s science is flawed. Hael grumbles to the attending nurses at the inaccuracies, and they mostly just humor her.

Sometimes Hael wishes she had died on the side of the road. She certainly should have. Castiel’s stab was fatal, and even if it hadn’t punctured a major organ, the blood loss from her wounds should have been enough to kill her.

But where would she have gone if she died? The final resting place of angels is nestled deep within Heaven, closed off from those who rightfully belong thanks to Castiel, and angels don’t belong in Hell or Purgatory. Where else to be but on Earth as a human?

And she is truly human. She no longer has wings, grace, a vessel. This body belongs to her and her alone. Penny, the young woman who inhabited it before Hael, is no more, or if she is still alive, Hael and her dulled human senses cannot perceive her.

“Dear Heavenly Host, hear my prayer. It’s Hael. I’m - I’m human.”

She doesn’t know what else to say other than that. Simply saying _I’m human_ encapsulates her entire predicament. _I’m human and I feel. I’m human and I hurt. I’m human and I don’t know what to do._ There’s so much in that one conjunction and one noun.

Her prayer goes unanswered for several days.

+

“Is that too warm for you?”

Still shivering, Hael shakes her head and positions herself directly under the spray. The nurse smiles at her as she pulls the curtain closed. Hael can still see her silhouette moving towels and replacing toiletries as needed, but otherwise she is alone to shower.

Hael imagines showering would be nice, under normal circumstances. If she could stand under the jet rather than sit beneath it, if she could move more freely, if her itchy, casted leg wasn’t wrapped in plastic and the water hitting it didn’t make that awful sound. Other than that, the warmth of the water is pleasant against her skin, and the sensation of the natural oils and dirt on her skin washing away makes Hael feel almost as clean as she was before the Fall.

The sponge baths the nurses gave her before she could get out of bed weren’t half as nice or as thorough. The water grew cold quickly, and the sponges became dirty and unpleasant. This shower is a vast improvement.

Hael tilts her head up to the stream and lets it do the same to her mind as it’s doing to her body. Her worries and misfortune wane. The nuances of this new human life she’s fallen into don’t feel so monumental. The pain of her injuries doesn’t pang so acrimoniously.

It all washes away.

“If anything happens or you need assistance out of the shower, press the nurse’s button,” the nurse says, her hand snaking into the stall and pointing out the red button on the tile. Hael acknowledges her with a _thank you_ , and the nurse leaves.

Sitting in the shower is like being beneath the open sky in the middle of a heavy rainstorm, only much more concentrated and less natural. The first rainfall Hael experienced was _pure_ , not a trace of pollution in the air or water as it beat down on her. Oh, how long ago that was. She relished how the water slid between the feathers of her wings. The rain pelted into the river she was fond of playing with and made it swell into a beast she could hardly contain. Nature is such a beautiful thing.

Eventually, when her fingers start to wrinkle, Hael remembers the real purpose of the shower and lathers soap into her hair, then onto her skin. She remains in the shower until the water loses its heat, long after the suds have gone down the drain. The pads of her fingers are pale and puckered. With a turn of the knob, the water ceases, and Hael is cold once more.

Pulling back the curtain, Hael discovers the nurse left a towel on the nearest rung. She pulls it off and dries as much of herself as she can. Now comes the hard part: getting back on the wheelchair.

To get her into the shower, the nurse nearly picked Hael up. That was much less painful than slipping out of the bed and into the wheelchair - Hael put her weight on her leg that time; now she knows better.

The distance between herself and the wheelchair is daunting, even though it’s only a couple feet. She wrestles with herself for several moments.

The last person she asked for help from was Castiel, and now she is a human in a strange hospital. If Castiel taught her one thing about humans, it’s that they’re unreliable. Castiel used to be the most dependable angel - he even pulled the Righteous Man from Hell when all others failed - but humanity tainted him. He lied, reneged on his promises, turned her into _this_.

Maybe that means Hael is unreliable as well. Not that anybody depends on her, especially since she can’t do anything she once used to be able to: create, inspire, heal, fly….

She’s sidetracking herself. That’s not something angels do. Hael is well and truly human.

Castiel may be unreliable, but the people at the hospital haven’t betrayed her yet. Yes, they’ve caused her pain with their needles and motion exercises, but they haven’t betrayed her. They are healing her when she cannot heal herself.

What is it about Castiel that caused him to do what he did to Hael?

He deserves to be punished for what he did to her and every other angel. Hael remembers the promise she made to him, that she’d reveal his location to the angels, and he would suffer. That day will come soon.

Castiel needs to feel his own weapon sinking into his stomach. And Hael is going to be the one to deliver that blow. But first she has to heal.

Hael presses the button.

In less than a minute’s time, the door creaks open. “Hael?”

It’s not the same nurse as earlier. This person’s voice is level, poised, a little low-pitched, but nothing like the ocean’s deep voice of the nurse before. Hael angles her face to the sound to see the silhouette of the woman behind the curtain.

“I need help out of the shower,” Hael says.

She doesn’t hear the woman’s footsteps, but the next thing Hael knows, the curtain is pulled back by a pale woman in patterned scrubs. Her eyes - burning, familiar - transfix Hael, and she _knows_.

“You’re not a nurse,” Hael says. Her blood turns cold, a compliment to her pebbled skin.

The woman sort of smirks. “And you’re not a human. Not really.”

Then what is she? Is she anything at all?

She feels human. What can only be described as _fear_ pounds against her chest, making every humid breath she takes in shallow, widening her eyes, closing up her throat. She’s never been conscious of her own mortality before; it was different with Castiel - she didn’t see the blade coming. There won’t be any coming back if she dies this time.

“What do you want from me?” she asks with a glare. This angel isn’t here to help her. But injured as she is, Hael can’t do much to defend herself. Maybe she should press the nurse’s button again, maybe she should scream.

“Answers,” the blonde answers shortly. Her hand settles on her thigh where a pocket made of different fabric has been stitched; now that her attention has been drawn to it, Hael can see the outline of a knife, long and thin. Hael flicks her gaze back up in time to see the angel doing the same. “Do you need the easy/hard way speech or should I cut to the chase?”

“I don’t know anything,” Hael insists. “I’m just as lost as you.”

At this, she pauses, brows knitting together and head tilting to the side. “You don’t recognize me?”

Hael sighs. “No. I have all the faculties of a human, and not a very special one. I can’t see souls, I can’t distinguish one angel’s grace from another’s. It’s so limiting.”

The blonde paces in front of the stall as she processes this information. Silence stretches between them, which gives Hael time to think. If this individual knows who Hael is and how she’s fallen from grace, why is she hiding her surprise to learn Hael can’t tell who she is? It’s not as if Hael is the first angel to lose their grace, even if it’s been a long time.

The angel’s footsteps don’t make a sound. The quiet perturbs Hael, reminding her of her new nature.

_Human, human, human._

“What’s your name?” she asks. She doesn’t think the angel will hurt her anymore, or at least the possibility has diminished significantly. If she’s anything like Hael was right after the fall, she’s looking for guidance and answers. While Hael has neither of those - Heaven knows she needs them herself - it would be nice to share this confusion with another.

The angel brushes her off with a hand wave. “It’s not important.”

“You know mine; it’s only fair I know yours.”

“You broadcasted yours through Angel Radio for anyone to hear. I don’t owe you anything.” Her lips curl into a sneer and her eyes flash like flint. Why is she acting like this towards Hael? She wasn’t the one to cause the Fall, after all. It’s Castiel’s fault. He’s the one to blame.

But overpowering Hael’s questions and retaliations, something springs into her chest, and all the air in her lungs rushes out at once.

“You heard my prayer?” Hael says. She was losing hope anyone had heard it.

“Yeah, and so did everyone else.” At her own reminder of the others, the angel looks over her shoulder, at the closed door. Her shoulders straighten, and when she turns back around, she becomes unwaveringly, intimidatingly focused on Hael, reminding Hael again how human she is as she shrinks back into her chair. “What’s wrong with you?” the angel demands. “Why are you different from the others?”

“I’m _human_ ,” Hael spits offensively. “That’s what’s wrong with me.”

“No.” The angel looms in closer. Hael resolutely does not cower this time. She meets the angel’s eyes as they flicker between her own. “You’re different. The others - they still have grace. They’re still angels. But you.” Her stare drops to Hael’s covered, broken leg. Proof of her mortality. “What happened to you?”

“It’s Castiel’s fault,” she snaps, and the angel’s expression startles frozen and slowly drains. Seeing the opportunity, Hael doesn’t hesitate any longer to barrel through and sway the angel’s opinion. “He’s the reason the angels fell. He’s the reason I’m like this. I found him a few hours after the fall. He stabbed me with my own blade, left me for dead.” Hael frowns at the memory of his betrayal. It stings and feels sour inside of her still.

“Where’s Castiel now?”

“He was going to leave me for his friends. He told me he would help me, and then he said I wasn’t as important as his friends. I needed him, and he abandoned me.”

The angel scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest, weight shifting onto one leg. “Typical Castiel,” she scorns with an eye roll. “He hasn’t changed.”

The information clicks into Hael’s mind. Did Castiel hurt this angel before? Is that why she appears broken?

“You have to heal me,” Hael demands, extracting herself from her thoughts. The angel blinks her wet eyes. “We can wreak vengeance on him together. The quicker we get out of the hospital, the better chance we have at finding him.”

As she processes Hael’s proposal, the only movement from the angel is barely discernable rise and fall of her chest as she breathes through her ajar mouth.

“I don’t work with others,” the angel says at last. “Especially ones like you.”

“Like me?” Hael frowns in confusion. She searches the angel’s eyes for some clue as to what she means, but what she finds there is too complex for her to discern. “You can’t expect to ruin him alone, can you?”

The angel shifts her posture to something deadly, frightening, ready to strike. “I’ve been waiting for this for _years_ , Hael,” she says, voice cold. The sudden use of her name reminds Hael that she still doesn’t know who is talking to her. It’s also strangely… intimate. Personal. “I don’t care if it’s going to kill me; I will destroy him. And I can do it alone.”

No. That’s not how it’s supposed to go. Hael has to be there when the light drains out of his eyes. She has to be standing above him, the hilt of the knife in her hand while the blade twists around in his intestines.

The angel gives Hael’s pathetic human body and soul a once-over. Hael feels utterly naked in a way she’s never felt before.

“You might’ve had wings at some point, but I’m not a killer. Not like this.” Her profile is fatigued. Her shoulders slump. “Good luck in the real world, Hael. You’re going to need it.”

Her hand wraps around the doorknob and twists.

“Who are you then?” Hael asks quickly, before she loses her chance. “If not a killer?”

She stills, turning her head back slightly in Hael’s direction.

“Claire Novak. Angel hunter extraordinaire.”

With a wry smile, Claire Novak disappears beyond the door. Hael gapes, and she damns her disabilities for grounding her to the shower chair, disallowing her to follow where Claire goes. She shivers.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The words ring in Hael’s mind after the woman who spoke them vanished.

_Claire Novak. Angel hunter extraordinaire._

When Hael asks Josephine about a blonde woman in patterned scrubs, Josephine frowns.

“What was a pediatric nurse doing up here?” she wonders aloud with Hael’s IV drip between her fingers. Her frown intensifies, thick eyebrows coming together between her eyes. “What did you say her name was?”

“I didn’t,” Hael says. “She didn’t give me one.”

She doesn’t know why she lies, but it’s not like telling Josephine Claire’s name will help at all. Hael doesn’t even know why she brought up the encounter in the first place. It just… came up in the silence of Josephine’s checkup of her.

“I’ll tell security,” Josephine says. In her haste to do so, she forgets her task, leaving Hael unattached to the medicine bag above her head. Her expression is concerned when she looks back at Hael just before ducking out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

The television holds no interest to Hael anymore, but it provides a nice ambient noise to her thoughts. _Claire Novak. Angel hunter extraordinaire_.

Hael has heard rumors about a hunter targeting angels before, though since she never left Heaven she barely gave attention to them. Now she wishes she had. Is Claire the hunter the angels were talking about or are there more? If there are more, will they find Hael like Claire did, and would they grant her the same mercy?

How did Claire find her in the first place? She said she heard Hael’s prayer. Only angels and a handful of their used vessels have access to Angel Radio. That means -

Claire was possessed.

Of course! Those eyes - no wonder they looked familiar. Claire must belong to the same lineage as Castiel’s vessel. Castiel must have possessed Claire before; that’s why Claire is so adamant about bringing Castiel down: he destroyed her life, too.

She’s figured out the enigma that is Claire Novak. Hael beams to herself.

Now she just has to get her to come back.

Or maybe she can go to her.

Hael eyes the unfolded wheelchair to her right. It will be painful, but she can lower herself into it. Claire doesn’t even have an hour’s head start of Hael. It shouldn’t be too hard to follow her trail. She’ll likely make her way to the nearest angel who might have information on Castiel, or maybe Hael will be lucky and Claire is still in the town.

Wherever Claire is, Hael needs to join her.

Josephine will be back soon with security. If Hael going to do this, she has to act now.

Hael reaches out to move the wheelchair closer and in a position easier for her to climb down into. The wheels judder a horrible sound as they’re dragged across the linoleum incorrectly, making Hael cringe. Thankfully, none of the hospital staff come to investigate the noise.

She grits her teeth as she lowers herself to the wheelchair. The pain in her hip has diminished from what it used to be, but it is still a sharp, deep hurt, barely endurable. The doctor told her the pain would continue to diminish until, a few weeks or even months later, she’s completely healed.

It’s endlessly frustrating not to be able to heal herself instantly. How do humans manage it?

Well, Hael is finding out.

Seated in the wheelchair now, Hael unlocks the brakes and rolls herself out the door.

Trying to be inconspicuous in a wheelchair isn’t exactly possible, Hael realizes. The moment she wheels out the door and into the hall, she attracts eyes. Some only glance at her; some stare until she’s out of sight. She can feel their gazes on her even if she isn’t otherwise aware of them. It’s unnerving. It burns her. Her breath trembles out of her.

Suddenly, control of the wheelchair is wrenched out of Hael’s hands. Someone behind her pushes the chair much more steadily than she had, and the inconsistent force Hael applied becomes stable. Heart pounding and a cold sweat breaking out across her skin, Hael looks over her shoulder.

All she can see is a wave of blonde hair over blue patterned scrubs.

“Calm down,” Claire hisses in her ear. “You look suspicious as hell, just act normal. Well, as normal as your type can get.”

Hael finds herself torn between wanting to glare at Claire for her jeer and thanking her for returning for her. But she doesn’t do either. She heeds Claire’s words and keeps her head straight, releases some of the tension in her body. Her jaw continues to quiver and her heart feels like it’s going to beat out of her chest; there’s nothing she can do about that. Claire pushes her in the direction of two pairs of large, metal doors. They stop between them, and Claire presses a button that then lights up with a downwards pointing arrow. When she turns back around and catches Hael’s expression, Claire huffs.

“What? You’ve never seen an elevator before?” she asks.

“I haven’t been on Earth in thousands of years,” Hael tells her. “My vessel’s-”

Hael is about to continue to tell Claire that now that her vessel’s conscience has left, all of her memories have gone, too. Hael used those memories to dress in clothes suitable to go out in, to drive her vessel’s car, to operate the cellphone that vibrated with a message from a person named Kate. Hael is about to tell Claire she doesn’t have those memories anymore to tell her what the new, human things she encounters are when the right doors _ding_ and open to a small room. Three people exit, leaving the space empty. Claire wheels Hael inside.

The elevator is small, cramped. Maybe if Hael wasn’t wheelchair-bound it wouldn’t be - her wheelchair takes up a lot of space. At least Claire is the only other occupant so the lack of space isn’t as big an issue as it could be.

Claire lights up another button with her thumb and the doors slide closed. Just before they seal, a man in a black suit rushes to make it inside, but the doors shut and it’s too late for him. Hael feels a perverse rush of satisfaction.

And then the floor drops.

Pain shoots up from her hip as she jolts in fright, and she lets out a startled yelp. Behind her, Claire snorts.

“What in Heaven!” Hael exclaims.

“Welcome to the modern world,” Claire says. She pats Hael’s shoulder, and Hael takes a deep breath.

+

The elevator lets them off in a covered parking lot. They’ve escaped the hospital without trouble, it seems. Hael knows she wouldn’t have made it this far without Claire. Hael probably wouldn’t have even gotten off the level her room was on, since she can’t take the stairs in her condition and didn’t know about the elevators.

The sounds of a young child and their guardian laughing echoes around in the concrete structure. Hael spots the couple as Claire wheels her through the cars and continues to watch them until Claire stops them in front of an aerodynamic, pink car.

“This one’s yours?” Hael asks, though it’s not really a question.

Claire hums an affirmative reply, turns a key in the lock, and throws the door open. The cab is stained in places and littered with clothes and food wrappings. It’s much messier than Hael’s vessel’s car, but that’s what Hael immediately loves about Claire’s car. There are epic, adventurous stories to be told here.

“I like it,” Hael declares.

“Well, it wouldn’t matter if you didn’t; you’re getting in anyway.” Despite her statement, Claire smiles for a moment. “Do you need help?”

Claire must know the answer to her question already and is just asking for formality’s sake. Humans are very fond of formalities. Hael pushes herself closer to the open door.

“Why did you come back for me?” Hael asks. She’s appreciative but doesn’t understand, and she’d like to. Claire told her she works alone, so it’s unlikely she came back to get Hael to assist her. Unless she changed her mind - fickle humans.

Maybe Claire didn’t change her mind on that front but on whether or not she can kill Hael.

As Claire grips Hael under the armpits and pulls her up and into the passenger seat, Hael realizes that even if the latter theory is right, she doesn’t regret leaving the hospital with Claire. To die out here rather than waste away in the hospital bed is much more appealing.

Hael’s leg jostles in the move from the wheelchair to the car, and she swears in Enochian before she can consider the repercussions of using the Holy Language in the presence of an angel hunter.

Claire exhales through her nose, an abrupt huff of noise. Hael turns her attention away from getting into the car as painlessly as possible to Claire, who wears the hint of a smile. “Gesundheit.”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Hael responds, “I didn’t sneeze. Are you fluent in German?”

“No, it’s just something people say sometimes.” Claire shrugs. “Swing your legs in. We gotta skedaddle.”

“That’s too bad. German is a beautiful language.”

With Claire’s assistance, Hael pulls her legs into the footwell, and as soon as she’s completely inside, Claire slams the door. Claire folds the wheelchair and places it in the compartment in the back of the car. Then she opens her own door, climbs in, and turns the engine on. Hael watches her the entire way. There’s a fluidity with which Claire moves that Hael admires. As she backs the car out of the parking space, Hael contemplates the relationship between the hunter and her vehicle more thoroughly. She thinks about her thoughts regarding the connection of that television show’s leads juxtaposed with Hael and her bed’s remote; all of that pales in comparison to the chemistry between Claire and her car. Claire loves this car, knows how it moves, how to command it; the car even, though it lacks sentience, loves Claire back somehow.

The speed limit imposed at the side of the road is fifteen miles per hour. Claire goes nearly twenty five. Hael hasn’t felt as safe as she does now since before the Fall.

Claire eases the car to a stop at an intersection and turns the blinker on to go right. Completing the turn, she accelerates to meet and exceed the speed limit again. As the speedometer reaches thirty, over the hill behind them, a line of police vehicles hurtle through the turn into the hospital. Their lights flash, accompanied by a raucous siren.

Claire smirks with triumph. Hael finds herself mirroring that smile.

 +

“You haven’t answered my question,” Hael says, breaking the taciturnity that’s charged the cab since they left the hospital. A crooning man and his guitar have accompanied them for the last half an hour, but other than that the drive has been silent.

Claire gives Hael a quick sideways frown. “Which one?”

“I asked why you came back for me,” Hael reminds, watching Claire closely for her reaction. Her expression twitches and she rolls her shoulders, but other than that she appears phlegmatic. Something else occurs to Hael. “You didn’t even answer my first question: what do you want from me?”

“Yeah, I did. ‘Answers’; that’s what I want.”

“Answers to what?” Hael angles her shoulders to Claire and relaxes in her seat. The worn cushioning is comfortable to sink into. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

“You’re going to help me?” Claire draws her eyes off the road to stare at Hael with raised eyebrows. “Really?”

“I have no reason not to,” Hael responds.

“I kill your kind.”

“I’m not an angel anymore.”

The radio fades to silence, letting the roll of the wheels on the road take over until a new song starts up with a harmonica tune.

Claire exhales deeply. She takes one hand off the steering wheel to lean an elbow against the window, head cradled in her palm. “The point still stands. I kill angels. I’m kind of surprised I didn’t have to drug you and tie you up in the back. You’re not very smart, are you?”

Hael bristles at Claire’s jibe. “We have the same goal. I expect that to override any rancor between us.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “I’m going to take that as a ‘no’. Humans aren’t that honorable.”

“Would you say you aren’t as well?”

At that, Claire gives Hael a glare, but it lacks real malice. “Smart ass.”

“Your observations are contradictory,” Hael accuses, and Claire laughs.

“Okay, you’ve gotta be fucking around with me,” she says. “No one’s that-” She makes a vague hand gesture, letting go of the steering wheel for a moment. The car deviates from the center of the lane, but not enough to cross into the next one. Claire corrects the alignment when she grabs the wheel again. “I don’t even know.”

“Is that… okay?”

Claire shakes her head and says again, “I don’t know.”

Hael turns to stare straight ahead at the empty road in front of them, a pout pushing out her lips. Why is it that Hael seeks Claire’s approval? Why does she want to please her?

It must be a human thing. Hael grimaces to herself uncomfortably.

“I came back,” Claire says, talking slowly, “because I realized you were right. I’ve been doing this for three years now, and I’m hardly closer to Castiel than I was when I started.”

“Three years?” Hael echoes and examines Claire. She can’t be any older or younger than Hael’s vessel.

Claire nods. “Castiel’s been possessing my dad for eight years. He took him away from us. And then, three years ago, I see him on the news.” Claire frowns deeply, and her brow is furrowed. “He was killing people. He was _covered_ in blood. He was using _my father’s_ hands to slaughter hundreds, if not thousands. My dad gave Castiel his body and trust, and Castiel abused it.” Her jaw tightens. “I’ve always been angry at him for taking my dad away, but seeing him do that… I realized what I had to do.”

“Punish him,” Hael fills in, and Claire nods again. “I remember that slaughter,” Hael goes on. Claire glances at her, mouth ajar. “It wasn’t just Earth he ruined; he _decimated_ Heaven. He called himself the new God and killed everyone who refused to follow him.”

Claire frowns. “You followed him?”

“It wasn’t by choice! He would have killed me otherwise.” She remembers Castiel visiting her and several other angels while they meditated in a field. One angel among them refused to stand with Castiel, and Castiel made an example of them by merely twisting his hand, severing their spine. Normally this wouldn’t kill an angel, but it killed this one. Their wings burned the grass around their unnaturally bent body. The remaining angels, Hael included, looked onto Castiel with fear and swore their loyalty to him.

Hael tears herself out of the memory with a shudder.

“What happened after that?” Claire asks, glancing at Hael again. “I could never figure it out. It’s like he disappears for a year at a time. One year he’s here; the next he’s gone without a trace.”

“He died,” Hael answers. “Castiel is something of a phenomenon. Whenever it seems he’s died, he’s resurrected. By God, by Lucifer - no one knows. It’s starting to get annoying. How does he deserve second, third, fourth chances? What makes him more special than any other angel? Than Samandriel, than Hester, than Anna?”

Her voice cracks on Anna’s name, and suddenly she becomes aware of everything: the thin film on her teeth, the pricking in her eyes, and how bright the world seems to be. Her face feels like it’s on fire, and the single tear that falls from her eye doesn’t soothe the burn; if anything it exacerbates it.

The car slows down.

Hael turns to Claire.

Her closed off expression has fallen, and in its place is Claire. There are no walls around her, sheltering her from the world, sheltering the world from herself. Hael sees Claire’s naked face, and it eases the storm of emotion inside of her.

“Look, I can’t be sorry about your friends,” Claire says in a quiet voice. “But, yeah. That’s fucked up.”

Claire only gives her the truth, nothing less. Hael finds her lips turning upward faintly, pleased even as she’s hurting over her lost brothers and sisters. She reaches up with her hand to wipe away the tears that dampen her eyes, only to pull back when a pinch on the back of her hand reminds her of the catheter. With a tired groan, Hael drops her hand back to her lap and uses her other, less-proficient hand to rub her eyes.

Glancing over at her, Claire offers, “Want me to take that off?”

“It’s very uncomfortable,” Hael says and holds out her hand for Claire to take.

“Hold on. Let me pull over first.”

Claire guides the car to the side of the road. The tires crunch on the gravel. Once she stops the car, Claire reaches over Hael to the compartment in front of her. Inside are various papers, some charms and protections, and a bright red pouch, the latter of which Claire pulls out before shutting everything else in.

“What’s that?” Hael asks as Claire unzips the pouch.

“First aid kit.” With the pouch open, Hael sees an array of small packets, tubes, and instruments. The pouch is very compact to be able to hold all that it does. Claire selects a thin strip from a sheaf of many and holds it up for Hael’s inspection. “This is a bandaid. Now give me your hand.”

Claire’s hand is warm as it cups Hael’s. She takes the peeling edge of tape on Hael’s hand between her fingers.

“Okay, one, two, three.”

Hael grits her teeth as Claire rips the tape off and pulls the catheter out of her vein. A bead of blood bubbles up from her broken skin, and the skin where the tape was torn off stings, but other than that removing the IV does not hurt. Hael clutches her hand to her chest and rubs the stinging skin.

“Let me have it,” Claire says, reaching over. Hael submits and allows Claire to once more take her hand in hers. This time, Claire’s handling is gentler. Hael bites her bottom lip as Claire traces the shape the tape left on her. “Not too bad.”

Nodding, Hael lets her lip go. Claire puts her hand down momentarily to peel the wrappings off the bandaid. Hael raises her hand, and Claire places the bandage precisely so the gauze in the center soaks up the blood. Claire rubs her thumb across the back of Hael’s hand to flatten the adhesive ends.

“There.” Claire smiles as she pats Hael’s hand. Hael’s face grows warm. She swallows.

“Thanks,” she replies, voice unsteady. Claire responds with a quick smirk and lets go of Hael’s hand. Suddenly Hael feels cold. She draws her hand back to herself and clasps it in the other to get the warmth back, but it isn’t the same.

+

The sun has long since set when Hael’s stomach growls at her from lack of food. Claire takes notice with a huff of laughter.

“We’re almost there,” she assures Hael and her hungry stomach, though she doesn’t elaborate where ‘there’ is. “Hundred bucks says Missouri’s already got a buffet laid out for us. Homemade rosemary mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy, chicken, green beans with lemon and pine nuts.” A smile graces her lips. Hael has the feeling that Claire’s reminiscing previous meals with this Missouri person. “She probably even made cobbler for dessert.”

Twenty minutes later, Claire brings the car to a stop in front of a pale blue house. The sun has set, and nearly every house in the neighborhood has lights on above their front steps, clouding the night stars from view. Hael glares at them while Claire gets out of the car, retrieves the wheelchair, and comes around to Hael’s side to help her out.

“What’s out there?” Claire asks, noticing Hael’s scowl. She gives the neighborhood a cursory glance.

“Their lights,” Hael says. “You can’t see the stars because of them.”

Claire’s lips purse in a considering pout, but before she can reply to Hael, the door of the house they’ve parked in front of opens. The silhouette of a large woman stands in the doorway, darkened from behind by the golden houselights.

“Claire!” The woman shouts. “Come on in. You’re just in time for supper.”

“Of course,” Claire mutters with a smile. Hael can’t help but stare at it as Claire readies the wheelchair for her. The neighborhood is dark despite all of the lights, but the pink of Claire’s lips and the affection in their bow is unmistakeable.

“Getting you out won’t be as easy as getting you in,” Claire says, startling Hael out of her trance. “Turn around. No, the other way.”

With her her back to Claire, Hael waits for further instruction. She gets none, however. Without warning, Claire grabs Hael beneath her armpits and drags her up and out of the passenger seat. The move jostles her injured leg several times, causing Hael to cry out each instance. Claire was right in her previous statement; getting out is so much worse than getting in.

When at last Hael is seated back in the wheelchair, Claire wheels her backwards some, closes the car door, and turns the wheelchair around toward the house. The wet grass makes the wheels squeak as they travel through the yard. Cool night air brushes against Hael’s cheeks, which after several hours cooped up in the car, feels like a gust of wind produced when an angel takes flight in Heaven. Hael breathes the air deeply.

Claire tips the wheelchair back to climb the front stairs and then to cross the house’s threshold. The homeowner, who Hael assumes is the Missouri Claire mentioned, closes the door behind them. The lighting is better suited for Hael to see her now - she won’t ever get used to these limited human senses. Missouri is a dark skinned woman with hair close to her head and wrinkles around her eyes that reveal her maturity.

“Let me look at you!” Missouri says, drawing Claire away from the wheelchair and holding her at arm’s length. Satisfied with what she sees, Missouri pulls Claire in for a hug. “It’s been ages.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Claire hugs Missouri back.

When the two separate, Missouri turns her attention down to Hael, sitting with human patience in her wheelchair, hands clasped in her lap as she has no idea what else to do with them. Missouri gives her a warm smile. “Hello, child. My name’s Missouri.”

Hael nods. “I’m Hael.”

“I know. Come in; we don’t want supper to get cold, now do we?”

“No, ma’am.” Claire gets behind Hael again and pushes her further into the house. The blue grey walls are adorned with framed photographs and paintings, set at equal distances from one another. Hael admires them as they go by; most of them are of flora, but there is one painting of two lovers locked in an intense kiss. She stares at that one until it hurts her neck to do so, then she turns her attention ahead where Missouri pulls a chair out from the table. There is only one other chair to go with it.

“Here you go, Claire.” Missouri motions for her to take the chair, which Claire does, trailing her fingers along the top of Hael’s wheelchair as she goes. When Claire is properly seated, Missouri turns to Hael. “There’s a spot for you right here. You need help wheeling yourself in?”

“I can do it,” Hael says. Missouri nods, then she makes her way through a doorway separating the dining room from the kitchen.

Using gentle and alternating pushes, Hael maneuvers herself before her table setting. The arms of her wheelchair bump up against the table’s edge, too close, so Hael backs up a couple inches, then locks the brakes into place. She smiles proudly to herself and looks up to see Claire watching her.

“I don’t know what you like, Hael - certainly not that foul hospital food - but I made Claire’s favorite meal,” Missouri says from the kitchen. Both Claire and Hael break their eye contact to give their attention to Missouri as she walks out of the kitchen with a dish in her hands. Steam billows up from the heap of lumpy, cream-colored mush inside. “There’s chicken, green beans, biscuits and gravy. And there’s an apple cobbler keeping warm in the oven.”

It’s the meal Claire described. Hael blinks.

Claire smiles widely up at Missouri. “Mmmm,” she says. “Thanks so much.”

“Pleasure’s all mine. I’ll go get the rest of supper; you kids serve yourself. You’ve had a long journey.”

Placing the dish on the table, Missouri shuffles off to the kitchen again. Claire reaches for the serving spoon eagerly and lumps a sizable portion onto her plate.

“What’s that?” Hael asks, staring at the glop on Claire’s plate. Although it doesn’t look very appetizing, Hael hopes Missouri’s implication is true, because if all human food is like the food they served her at the hospital, she might rather starve.

“You have to be kidding. What did they feed you up in Heaven?”

“Nothing. Angels don’t require sustenance.”

Claire lets out an amused breath. “These are mashed potatoes. Here, try some.”

Claire leans over to spoon some mashed potatoes onto Hael’s plate. They fall with a _plop_ from the utensil. When Claire puts the dish back on the table, Hael warily grabs a fork and collects a sample of the mashed potatoes onto it. The warm smell drifts into Hael’s nose, convincing her to eat. A buttery, herby taste mellows on her tongue, and her eyes widen.

“Good, isn’t it?” Claire asks. Hael nods enthusiastically.

Missouri returns from the kitchen, smiling. Now she brings out a clear dish of long, green things. Missouri said she made green beans - these must be it. Claire serves Hael with a pair of tongs before she serves herself.

This time, Hael doesn’t need encouragement to eat. She pierces a green bean with her fork and fits it into her mouth. The fresh taste bursts in her mouth, accompanied by subtle hints of salt and other flavors. She swallows after it’s sufficiently chewed, and when she looks up she finds Claire looking at her, frozen with the tongs in her hand still.

Hael is introduced to biscuits and gravy, and chicken. She doesn’t care as much for the gravy as she does the biscuits; while not terrible, the gravy is thick and pungent, and the biscuits are more delectable without garnish. The chicken is dry and tastes more like death than anything else, so Hael doesn’t eat more than a couple bites. Missouri takes it off her plate and onto her own.

“I haven’t asked yet how you’ve been, Claire,” Missouri says, sounding astonished of herself.

“That’s because you already know.” Claire raises an eyebrow at Missouri as she takes a bite of chicken.

“I’m a psychic, Claire, not a mindreader.”

“You’re psychic?” Hael asks, turning to Missouri in awe. That explains how Missouri knew Hael’s name before she was introduced. Missouri must also be able to sense who Hael really is, although she hasn’t mentioned it.

Missouri nods. She swallows before answering. “Have been since I was born. It runs in the family. My mom taught me everything she knew, just like her daddy did her, his momma did him.”

“God blessed your blood,” Hael recognizes, earning another nod from Missouri. Claire snorts. “Claire?”

“Nothing,” she says. Hael stares at her, but no matter how intensely she stares she cannot comprehend her. Eventually, Hael is forced to give up and return to her biscuits.

Anna would probably understand Claire much easier than Hael. And she would have liked Claire, too, as fierce, independent, and human as she is. Hael doesn’t know if Claire would reciprocate that liking because of her prejudice against angels. Maybe, though. It seems that she likes Hael. Although the fact that Hael is no longer an angel may help. Would Claire give Anna the same chance she gave Hael?

Missouri interrupts Hael’s thoughts. “Hael, what’s wrong, dear?”

Hael blinks back to the present. Claire and Missouri are both staring at her. Claire’s mouth is full, but she’s not chewing.

“I was thinking of my sister,” Hael admits. “She’d like you, Claire.”

Claire’s only response is to blink and resume chewing.

“What’s her name?” asks Missouri.

“Anna.” Despite her sadness, Hael finds herself smiling softly.

“That’s probably the most normal-sounding angel name I’ve heard so far,” Claire comments.

“Her God-given name was Anael, but she rejected it for a more human name,” Hael says. “She loved humans. She fell to become one of you.”

Claire gives a moment of thought before saying, “Yeah, I might like her back.” Then she takes another bite of green beans as if her words don’t have any weight.

She's oblivious to the wave of emotion that crashes over Hael. It's like anger, though not quite. Hael was - is - angry at Castiel, and though this is similar, it’s not quite the same. There’s a more… protective edge to this anger, less self-preserving.

Claire can’t like Anna. Claire has to like Hael.

An abrupt sound shatters Hael’s tempered thoughts: Missouri pushing her chair out behind her as she stands. “Ready for dessert?”

Claire nudges her plate forward, everything but crumbs and a puddle of gravy eaten. “Yes, please, ma’am.”

Hael follow’s Claire’s lead, and she nods.

+

Though the cobbler tastes good and sweet, Hael doesn’t have an appetite for it. After her initial bite, all Hael has the energy for is pushing the filling around with her fork.

Claire notices her lack of enthusiasm after half of her own pie is eaten. “Still thinking about Anna?” she guesses softly, and though she’s not right, it seems wrong to say _no_ since thinking about Anna began this oscillation of emotion. Hael has gone from reminiscing her sister to hating her for a speculative scenario to feeling nothing at all. Or maybe she does feel. Is numb the right word for this? Stunned? Why does the human language have so many words that mean similar but also distinct things?

Hael shifts almost imperceptibly in her wheelchair. Just enough to move, but not enough to cause intense pain to flare from her hip injury. She scratches at her temple.

“Being human is strange,” Hael says. “Humanity is strange. I’ll never understand it.”

“No one does,” Claire says. She takes a drink of water. Hael watches the column of her throat as she tips her head back for the last drops in the glass. With an explosive sigh, Claire sets the cup back down. She licks her wet lips and wipes a hand over them.

Hael’s sigh is much less dramatic than Claire’s. She sinks against the back of her wheelchair and has the urge to groan. “I don’t like sitting anymore; it’s getting uncomfortable. I used to be able to meditate for days, even weeks on end in Heaven. Why doesn’t humanity have that kind of endurance?”

“We can’t all be monks. Or angels.” Claire shrugs.

“God created humans in His own image,” Hael says. “He has infinite tolerance. Why didn’t he pass that quality onto mankind?”

“He skipped omniscience too, don’t forget.” Claire stabs her cobbler with her fork.

“What is it?” Hael asks. She has the urge to reach over and touch Claire, just a hand on hers or something else innocuous. But the space between them is too big, especially considering Hael’s handicap.

Claire sighs. “Nothing. I just. It’s hard to believe God’s out there,” she says, eyes still downcast. “I used to believe. I’d pray every night. But ever since my dad….”

“How do you justify the existence of angels, then?”

“I don’t know.”

They sit mutely while Claire finishes her pie and Hael pushes hers around. The sound of Missouri preparing the guest bedroom often breaks the quiet, until finally she emerges from the back, saying, “Whew. Who’d’ve known those sheets could get so dusty. I apologize for not being ready to receive you.”

“Missouri, you made dinner just in time for us,” Claire says. “Homemade and yummy to boot. We don’t mind about the room.”

Hael shakes her head in agreement.

Missouri smiles at them and rests a hand on their shoulders. “Y’all are angels.” Her eyes meet Hael’s, and she starts cackling. Hael can’t help but smile as well. “Just give me a moment to plug in one of those fresheners.” She gives their shoulders a pat, then goes through a door opposite the kitchen, where it’s dark and a foul smell emanates.

“It smells like the freshener needs to stay in there,” Hael says, wrinkling her nose.

Claire tips her head back and laughs. A warm feeling swells in Hael’s chest. Claire’s laugh is an enjoyable sound, silvery and rich. Hael wants to hear more of it very much. But how does she elicit it again? She doesn’t even understand the humor in her statement.

Claire is still laughing when she stands up and takes their dessert plates to the kitchen. Hael watches her go, wishing she could understand anything about her new world at all.

+

“Okay, here’s the guest room,” Missouri announces as she pushes Hael through the doorway. The room in question has a color scheme similar to the rest of the house: cool shades ranging from a dusty blue to a deep green with a healthy amount of brown. The bed is outfitted with a blue blanket and two pillows. To the side of the bed, a small shelf houses many books, a lamp, and a clock.

“Thanks, Missouri,” Claire says, waltzing in. Missouri says something about clothes, but Hael finds it hard to listen to her when Claire plops down on the bed, falling onto her back. The expanse of her torso is laid out. Hael watches Claire’s chest expand and contract. A smile curls on Claire’s lips. “I feel like we’re staying at Four Seasons.”

“What?”

Claire waves a hand lazily. “It’s a hotel. A damn expensive one, too. But well worth it.” She wiggles herself more comfortably on the bed. “Right before my dad disappeared, my mom thought it would be good for all of us to take a vacation. Since I’d always wanted to go to Disney World, we hitched a flight down to Orlando. Best weekend of my life.”

Claire’s smile has turned sad. Hael wheels herself forward until her knees bump against Claire’s. Claire startles up at the touch but does not withdraw.

“What’s Disney World?” Hael asks.

Claire’s right knee begins to sway, knocking Hael’s cast. “It’s a theme park. Every kid should go before they grow up for good - it’s like an unofficial law or something. People dress up in costumes, eat sugary foods, wait in line for hours on end to go on Space Mountain.” Claire smirks. “I got heatstroke and puked my guts out in the spinning teacups.”

Hael furrows her eyebrows at Claire. “That was the best weekend of your life?”

“It’s one of those places you just have to experience,” Claire says. “Especially when you’re young, ‘cause when you’re older you realize how miserable everything really is. The lines are hell, the crowds are hell. But it’s magical.”

Her smile is less sad now.

“What about you?” Claire asks suddenly. Hael looks up from Claire’s lips and into her eyes. “You’ve been asking all the questions. I should get a turn.”

Hael nods. “That’s fair. What would?”

“Let’s go easy: what was the best weekend of your life?”

“The best weekend of my life?” Hael repeats, and Claire nods. “Certainly not this weekend.” The remark has its desired effect and makes Claire chuckle. As Hael watches her, her chest fills up like a balloon inflated with helium, and parts of her feel like flying.

“Well, it wasn’t a weekend. It was centuries, millennia. And long ago.” Claire’s interest is piqued, her expression open. Hael smiles and feels her cheeks warm up now, too. “I became fascinated with a river. I played with it whenever I could get away from Heaven. Eventually it formed a canyon. Grand and beautiful. That’s the best time of my life: building that canyon.”

Claire stares at her with wide eyes and a slack jaw. “The Grand Canyon? You created the Grand Canyon?”

“It appears to go by that name. Back then, it was just _mine_. It was the only thing I had of my own.”

“Wow,” Claire breathes. She blinks rapidly. An emotion Hael can’t name bursts in her chest, even brighter and more intense than when she told Castiel about her creation. It’s impossible to tear her eyes away from Claire’s expression. Her lips are parted, pink, and moist from when she licked them. Though her eyes aren’t focused on Hael, Hael sees how bright and vibrant they are. Then Claire’s mouth works, and her cheeks have a warm tint to them. “You know, I’ve always wanted to go there.”

All at once, contradictorily, Hael’s chest feels too tight, too heavy, but also so light. She swallows so the sensation doesn’t escape up her throat like it feels like it might, incredible as that would be.

“Why don’t you?” Hael asks. She licks her lips. “Why don’t we?”

Claire flicks her gaze on Hael. Hael’s breath all but stops. It looks like Claire is seriously considering the idea, but before she can reply, Missouri knocks on the door to announce her re-entry, holding a pile of clothes in her hand.

“Sorry for interrupting, but I’ve got a call to take. These are Jenny’s from just over yonder,” Missouri says. She separates the pile and gives part to Hael and the other part to Claire. Hael casts Missouri a curious look. “You can’t stay in those awful scrubs all night. I let it slide during supper, ‘cause I knew y’all were hungry, but now there’s no excuse.” She wags her finger.

“I have clothes in the car. Hael’s about my size. We can just-”

“Heaven knows when they last saw the inside of a washer, Claire. You’re wearing Jenny’s clothes.” Missouri glares at Claire until she closes her mouth and accepts the instruction with a nod. Satisfied, Missouri departs again, this time closing the door behind her. Claire exhales heavily and falls back on the mattress.

“What’s wrong?” Hael asks. “It’s just clothes.” She’s curious about the one Missouri gave her, and she’s kind of cold in her hospital gown, but she wants to know what’s bothering Claire more than she wants to change. Besides, she needs Claire’s help undressing and redressing.

“Yeah, but they’re _Jenny’s_ clothes. And Missouri’ll make me go over and thank her for lending me clothes again.”

“So?”

“Jenny doesn’t like me.”

“Why not?” Hael demands. Why wouldn’t anyone like Claire?

“It’s complicated,” Claire says. “Not to call you stupid, but I don’t think you’d get it.”

Hael’s frown intensifies. “Tell me anyway.” When Claire looks back at her, Hael juts up her chin and tightens her jaw. Claire lets out another sigh and rubs her hand over her face.

“Fine, okay.” Sitting upright again, Claire crosses her legs so they’re bent at acute angles and her thighs rest on top of her ankles. It doesn’t look like the most comfortable position for her legs to be in, even though to Hael nearly every position is preferable to the one hers are forced to keep. Claire leans forward, placing her elbows on her knees. “Jenny has a daughter who’s about my age. I went out with her for a while.”

“You went out with her?” Hael repeats, not understanding which of the many connotations of the words Claire means.

Claire drags her hand over her face again, then exclaims, “Fuck, we dated! We were involved, we went steady, wooed each other, courted each other - whatever the hell you want to call it.”

Hael blinks. “And… Jenny dislikes you for that?”

“Sort of. Like I said, it’s complicated.” Hael waits patiently for Claire to continue, and when she does, her voice is much calmer. “I’m bisexual. Which basically means I’m attracted to both men and women. Sexually. Romantically.”

“Are all humans not the same in that respect?” Hael asks. Perhaps it was foolish for Hael to assume so, since angels and humans are about as similar in nature as a mouse and a hawk, but she thought that humans, like angels, did not place any importance upon gender (or lack thereof) when it comes to mating.

Claire shakes her head. “No, and there’s a lot of…. There’s a lot of sexualities. A shit-ton, really. But a lot of people think not being heterosexual is a sin. Or they think other sexualities are imaginary. And Jenny is one of those people.”

“She thinks other sexualities are imaginary?”

Claire nods. “She was fine with me dating Sari. Which was great. People in Kansas aren’t exactly known to be accepting of same sex relationships, you know?”

No, Hael didn’t, but she does now. “Would many people not accept us then?”

Claire’s elbows slip from her knees. Her open-mouthed expression would be comical if Hael felt like laughing. “Wh-wh-what?” she sputters.

What doesn’t Claire understand? Hael furrows her eyebrows and presses her lips together. “Us. We are both female.”

“Yeah, so?”

“And we have a relationship.”

“Yeah, but not _that_ kind of relationship,” Claire says. She eyes Hael strangely.

The fragile understanding Hael thought she had on humans crumbles even more, and the skeletal pieces of information she now has to replace and augment that understanding does not make sense to her. She will never truly comprehend humanity.

“Hey.” Claire lays a hand on Hael’s shoulder. Hael lifts her face from her lap and meets Claire’s striking blue eyes. “You’re new to this. It’s okay not to know.”

“It’s so frustrating.”

The next thing Hael knows, Claire engulfs her in an embrace. Hael isn’t sure what to do at first, but she finds Claire’s shoulder comforting to hide her heated face in. She sniffs her runny nose and smells a combination of soap and her own mucus. Claire pulls back, giving Hael a smile.

“You need help getting dressed?”

+

Hael holds up the gown between her and Claire, letting the folds become undone. Its sleeves are medium length, the collar is damaged, and there is a small hole in the abdomen. It feels light and soft between Hael’s fingers.

“How much can you move?” Claire asks, jerking her chin down.

Hael lowers the gown; it pools back in her lap. “I can move,” she replies. “It just hurts incredibly to do so.”

Claire purses her lips. “I’ve been meaning to ask. I took a look at your chart before I saw you wheeling yourself out of your room. It said something about your hip? And of course all the broken bones in your leg. How the hell did you get so banged up?”

“I was going to the Grand Canyon,” Hael says. “Castiel was with me. I thought he would help me. He was going to teach me about humans. But instead he wrested control of the car from me, and we crashed into a barrier. I flew through the windshield….” The shattered glass pierced the crown of her head. Hael reaches her bandaged hand to her hairline. The nurses said the cuts were healing nicely and took the gauze and tape off this morning before her shower. A shiver trembles through her.

Claire touches the back of Hael’s left hand where it rests on her thigh, clenching the gown. Hael focuses back on the present. Claire’s eyes and lips are unhappy.

She takes the clothes from her, placing it on the bed. Hael remains motionless while Claire kneels down to unlace the knot tying her hospital gown together at the side.

In a gentle voice, Claire says, “Lift yourself up just a little bit. Just enough so I can take get the gown out from under you.” Hael does so, gritting her teeth and shutting her eyes. Her forearms brace against the sides of the wheelchair and her back arches upward with her feet planted on the footrest. Claire draws the gown up from the hem. It slides cooly over Hael’s skin, making her skin prickle.

Then Claire stops.

Hael drops down and opens her eyes to give Claire a confused look. The gown is only partially removed, so half of Hael’s bottom sticks to the clammy seat while the other half sits on the gown. Claire stands with her hands on her hips, looking in the opposite direction of Hael. Her cheeks are pink and her bottom lip is pulled into her mouth.

“What’s wrong?” asks Hael.

“Nothing, nothing,” Claire replies hastily, though clearly something is wrong, or else she wouldn’t have stopped like that. Hael is about to point that out when Claire continues, “Just -”

“Just what?”

“You’re not wearing any underwear!” Claire bursts.

Hael blinks. “Underwear?”

“Yeah. You know, clothes that… you wear under your clothes. Undergarments.”

“I don’t understand,” Hael says. Claire isn’t looking at her, and it’s making her feel like she’s done something wrong. What is this underwear Hael should have, and why is Claire so alarmed?

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Claire mutters. She licks her lips, then turns to look in Hael’s direction at last. Not at Hael, but in her direction, at least. “Do you think you can pull the shorts on on your own?”

“I need your help. You offered me your help. Why are you reneging? What is it with you humans and going back on your promises?”

Her vision swims with unshed tears. Claire’s towering form becomes a blur of blue. Then she flees, her footsteps heavy on the ground. Hael is left alone with her tears, her wheelchair, and her pile of clothes.

A drop falls from her eye and runs down her cheek. She brings a hand up to wipe it. Her bandaged hand. The one Claire held so kindly and tended to. The edges of the bandage have curled up, allowing the adhesive to collect fibers and dust. Hael yanks it off and throws it. It leaves a stinging imprint of pale skin behind.

What is the matter with humans? What is the matter with Claire? What is the matter with Hael? Why can’t she stop crying?

Exhaustion overtakes her. It’s been a long day, the longest one Hael’s known, even in her vast existence. By the time her tears dry up, Missouri knocks lightly at the door. She doesn’t say anything as she helps Hael into her borrowed clothes and onto the bed.

“Sweet dreams, Hael,” Missouri whispers. She pats the top of her head before turning off the lights. She leaves the door ajar behind her.

Alone again but comfortable, Hael stares up at the ceiling. Enough light filters through the window for her to see the texture and even identify nonsensical shapes within it. Soon, her eyelids become too heavy for her to keep open. For the first time in her life, sleep comes easily, and she welcomes it without hesitation.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Smells infiltrate Hael’s senses when she wakes, something heavy and foul. Her hand comes up to wipe at her nose, then at her bleary eyes and the sand that has gathered at the caruncle. There’s an uncomfortable pressure in her lower abdomen that means she must urinate. Her right knee itches.

Hael hasn’t once woken up and felt refreshed yet. She thought she understood that that was what sleep was for, but evidently it is not.

Clamor outside the bedroom startles her, and she hears Claire shout a curse. Claire. Hael groans, remembering what happened last night. She’ll have to face Claire this morning. And unlike with Castiel, Hael can’t hit her in the back of the head and force her to do things Hael’s way, the way Claire promised she’d do.

Everything was so much easier when Hael was an angel.

Missouri folded the wheelchair and placed it beside the bed last night. The door is still partially open. Hael painfully eases herself down into the wheelchair. She wheels herself out of the room and into the washroom. By the time she’s finished urinating, she hears a voice from outside.

“Claire!” Missouri exclaims. Although her voice is muffled by the walls and distance, she doesn’t sound unrefreshed. What’s different about Hael that makes her still feel exhausted when she wakes up? “What is all this?”

“Breakfast,” Claire responds. She says more after that, but it’s lost in the distance. Hael rolls herself to the door and pushes it open a few more inches. The next voice she hears - Missouri’s - sounds much clearer now.

“Claire. We need to talk.”

“The eggs need my attention. I don’t want to burn them.”

“Never mind the eggs. I know what they mean.”

“‘What they mean’? Missouri, I’m not pregnant.”

“No, I know, but you are a stress cooker.” A heavy lull follows, filled only by sizzling and scraping. “What’s going on?”

It takes Claire several moments to answer. With each passing second, Hael grows more and more anxious for the answer.

Something clatters. The sizzling noise ceases. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Hael frowns.

“You brought an angel into my home. That’s not the Claire I know. What was going on in your head?” Even though she won’t be able to read and decipher it, in the silence Hael wishes she could see Claire’s expression. “It’s all right, I don’t mind, child. You and any guests you bring over are always welcome, you know that. I’m just curious. What made you decide to help this one?”

_She needs my help_ , Hael answers obviously. So far Claire has been unsuccessful in finding and killing Castiel, and with Hael as her partner, they have a better chance of fulfilling their mission.

“She’s not an angel anymore,” Claire says instead.

Why didn’t she say anything about help or Castiel? That is the reason. Hael’s frown deepens with confusion.

“Hasn’t stopped you before.”

Hael wonders if she’d be able to hear the beat of a fly’s wings from twenty angelic wingspans away in the ensuing silence, even graceless and human as she is.

Claire says, “That was a ruse. Why would an angel sit back and let their vessel take over? It might not even be possible; we don’t know enough about angelic possession.”

_It is possible._

_She doesn’t know as much as she should._

_I could teach her._

“You know I don’t like this crusade any more than your mother does.”

“You practically _are_ my mom at this point.”

“Don’t let Amelia hear that. You may never see the light of day.”

Claire snorts. The sound is humorous and makes Hael press her lips into a smile.

“I’ve missed you, Missouri. Sorry for being away for so long.”

“I’ve missed you, too. Go take a shower; I’ll take care of the rest of breakfast. Go on. Shoo! You don’t exactly smell like a rose garden.”

Hael doesn’t know how she knows, but she’s certain is Claire rolling her eyes. Indistinct noises, like fabric on fabric, rustle around, followed shortly by footsteps climbing the stairs. A door shuts.

“You can come out now, dear,” Missouri calls out, and Hael freezes. “It’s all right. A blind mouse would know you were eavesdropping. But flush the toilet first, for Heaven’s sake.”

She depresses the plunger. Rolling out, Hael says, “I doubt a mouse has the capacity to recognize whether one is eavesdropping or not, regardless of its ability to see.” She stops in the middle of the kitchen where Missouri is crouching in front of a large white box with the door open. When she hears Hael’s arrival, she moves out of the way and motions Hael to come forward.

“Would you look for the jam? I swear it’s in there somewhere. It’ll be in a small glass jar and say _jam_ on the label.” Missouri steps aside so Hael can take up position in front of the appliance. Cool air blows across her skin as she observes the food held inside.

“Don’t you worry about Claire,” Missouri says, shaking her head. She turns to the stove, upon which dishes and saucers are situated. “She’ll get over herself eventually. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” Hael says. She pushes aside plastic containers and jars that do not contain jam. One tall jar reads _olives_ ; inside it swims oily, oval globules. They do not look appetizing. Hael’s nose wrinkles as she pushes it aside and continues her search.

Upstairs, a muffled shrieking begins. Hael looks up alarmingly, but Missouri just chuckles.

“It’s just the shower.”

“Mine didn’t sound like that,” Hael says. She stares at the ceiling for several moments before dropping her head. Missouri is looking at her as if she’s learning something new and it amuses her.

“This house is an old one,” Missouri says. “Wonder it hasn’t gone and completely fallen apart on me.”

Hael finds a sticky jar labeled _jam_ behind several other jars and bottles. The jam itself is a thick, red substance with a distinct texture.

“I found it,” Hael announces. She places the jam in her lap and wheels herself to Missouri’s side; the appliance’s door slams closed without her obstructing it. Missouri takes the jam and places it on the counter next to a platter of mushy, yellow and white food. “Tell me about what you and Claire were discussing earlier,” Hael demands.

“About the angel who gave control back to his vessel?” Missouri guesses. She must be able to sense Hael’s thoughts, a powerful psychic indeed.

Hael nods. “Yes. What happened?”

Missouri huffs and puts a hand on her waist, shifting her weight. “About a year ago,” she begins with an unfocused expression, “Claire trapped an angel by the name of Inias.”

“Inias,” Hael repeats softly. She remembers him. He had one of the most beautiful voices of all the angels, but he also had the smallest pair of wings, and for that other angels were derisive toward him. Hael imagines those wings seared into the ground, ineffaceable. The image burns similarly into her mind as Missouri continues.

“He was a kind one. Didn’t deserve what was comin’ to him. None of them did, really…. Inias wanted to prove to Claire he was a good angel. She had him bound to his vessel with some wards, so Inias couldn’t leave. He probably would have, would have never bothered Earth again. His eyes flashed green, and suddenly Inias wasn’t Inias anymore; he was a man named Thomas. Poor dear was hysteric and scared half to death. But Claire didn’t believe it was real. She thought it was all an act - she hasn’t met an angel who was anything but spiteful before, not that they don’t have the right.”

“She said she didn’t know if it was possible for an angel to do that,” Hael recalls, and Missouri nods at her. “It is possible. I could do it if… if I wasn’t human.”

For several moments, Missouri is quiet as she considers her thoughts. Then she rubs Hael’s back gently. “You’ll have to tell that to Claire later. Now come on. We can’t just have eggs for breakfast. What else sounds good to you? Pancakes? Honeydew? Sausages?” Hael doesn’t know what any of that is, but she joins Missouri in thought about the matter. “Why don’t we just make it all? Claire’ll be done her shower long after we’ve finished fixing breakfast. There’s a big ol’ Tupperware in the panty labelled ‘all-purpose flour’ - bring it to me. Hmm. Where is that recipe?”

+

Missouri’s assumption that Claire would be done after they finished making breakfast is wrong; the last of the pancake batter is poured onto the griddle just as the shower turns off. Hael looks up to the rough ceiling again while Missouri turns over the sausage links with a pair of tongs.

Hael is tasked with slicing the honeydew melon as a final preparation for breakfast. The melon’s skin is thick, but the juicy meat yields easily. Missouri’s turned on the television just for something to listen to in the quiet. It doesn’t show the fictional world Hael saw in the hospital, but instead the very real reality they’re living in. A woman announces the death of an award-winning man in his own home, calling it a tragedy, and even to Hael the woman doesn’t sound as wretched as maybe she should reporting a man’s death.

Claire bounds down the stairs as the news breaks and advertisements begin to roll. Hael looks up from the melon. Claire’s changed out of the blue patterned scrubs and into a checkered red button shirt and shorts. Hael stares at her long legs, noticing the lack of hair on them and the abundance of scars. Where did she get the abrasion covering her left knee? Who inflicted the long slash up her opposite leg? As Claire steps closer, Hael is forced to direct her gaze elsewhere, so she looks up at Claire’s face. Then she squints. Claire’s eyelashes have darkened, which makes her eyes appear more vibrant than ever, and her eyelids have a queer shimmer to them. Her lips are glossy and unnaturally pink. All of the minor imperfections on her cheeks and forehead have been concealed.

“Morning,” Claire greets, passing Hael. Her hand trails the back of her wheelchair.

It might be more appropriate for Hael to return Claire’s greeting, but instead she blurts, “What’s on your face?”

That stops Claire immediately. In her peripheral vision, Hael notices Missouri’s turned her head their way.

“It’s makeup,” Claire says. When Hael continues to stare, Claire shifts her weight and elaborates, “People like to put it on sometimes. Makes them feel beautiful.”

“But you were beautiful yesterday and you didn’t have makeup on,” Hael says.

Missouri erupts into cackling. For several seconds, as her cheeks grow pink, Claire stares at Hael, then she turns away to stalk into the kitchen. Her hair is still wet and dampens the back of her shirt. Hael watches until she disappears behind Missouri’s larger body, then goes back to cutting the melon; it is more productive than staring at someone she can’t see.

“Hael, you almost done? You’d best get dressed before it’s time to eat.”

Hael frowns. “But I’m already wearing clothes.”

“You’re wearing _pjs_ ,” Missouri says. To Claire, she adds, “Jenny’s stuff is on the hamper. Grab something and help Hael into it?”

“I’m done,” Hael announces. She pushes herself away from the table. As she wheels up to Claire, she remembers the words Missouri told her. _She’ll get over herself eventually. Don’t worry._ Don’t worry. No worry. Is worry what’s closing up her throat and making her heart beat fast?

“Claire,” Hael addresses. Claire’s reaction is immediate. Her decorated eyes stare down at Hael, and her glossed lips open to speak.

“Yeah?”

“Help me get dressed.” For a beat, there’s no response, and Hael remembers belatedly to add a “Please.” 

Claire’s lips twitch, nearly forming a smile. The smile is fully-formed in her eyes, though. Hael doesn’t know how she can tell, but she can. Still, despite the smile, her response is grudging. “Yeah. Go to the guest room; I’ll be there in a moment.”

Claire makes good on her promise this time. The clock hasn’t even ticked into the next minute before Claire enters, one hand holding new clothes and the other behind her back. She closes the door with her foot and walks in Hael’s direction.

“I went out this morning for breakfast things and got you something,” Claire says. Hael looks at her confusedly. Claire’s lips quirk again and this time hold a smile. She blushes. “This is a really weird first gift to give someone. But here. The second thing that’s just yours.”

From behind her back, Claire reveals a rectangular package, and she promptly tosses it to Hael. Its wrappings are cool plastic, on which a woman’s figure from her waist to her mid-thighs stands. COTTON 6 BIKINIS. Inside, six rolls of fabric are packed. Six bikinis? Hael looks up from her gift to Claire, who is watching her expectantly.

“Underwear,” Claire says, tapping the top of the package.

“This is why you wouldn’t help me change yesterday? Because I didn’t have these?” They don’t appear very special; the only function they seem to have is to cover up a person’s genitals.

“It’s a human decency thing,” Claire explains. She takes the package from Hael and tears off the top with a clean rip. Taking out the first underwear roll, she hands it to Hael. A vague floral design made out of circles is printed on a purple background. It’s soft to the touch and has a peculiar smell to it. A strip of tape holds the roll together; Hael pulls it off, and Claire sticks the tape to the edge of the bedside shelf.

“Will my cast fit through that hole?” Hael asks, scrutinizing the opening. When she protracts it, it stretches considerably, answering her own question: yes, it looks like her cast will have no trouble fitting in.

“Give them and stretch out your legs,” Claire orders.

As Hael obeys, Claire sinks to her knees in front of her and holds the underwear out. She wraps her free hand around Hael’s ankle, and a tingle shoots through Hael. The base of her spine tightens. Claire guides Hael’s foot through the opening, then she places Hael’s foot back down on the footplate. Putting her other, casted leg through the underwear happens much the same. Claire tells Hael she has to pull the underwear up her thighs and around her hips by herself. It’s difficult squirming the underwear into place while she can’t move without feeling pain, but she manages, and Claire’s hands on her knees are a comfort. The pants - Claire calls them sweats - go on in much the same way.

“You can put the shirt on yourself, right?” Claire asks. “I don’t have a bra for you, so….”

Hael nods with the light purple shirt in her lap. “I’ll do my best,” she says, and Claire leaves the room, telling her that unless she needs help to just come out to the table when she’s done.

A couple minutes later, she does just that. Claire is sitting in the same place she sat last night for dinner, and Missouri is leaning against her seat, forearms resting on the back of it. At the sound of Hael’s arrival, both women look to her. Hael smiles at them as she wheels herself to her place.

“Right,” Missouri says, pulling out her chair and sitting down with a _creak_. “Dig in, girls.”

Claire piles food onto Hael’s plate first. There are pancakes, eggs, sausages, and the melon Hael cut (quite well, if anyone were to ask her), and she also pours her a glass of orange juice. The eggs look similar to the mashed potatoes from last night, but with more texture and color, and they have a stronger flavor.

“The eggs are delicious, Claire.” The words spill out of Hael before she’s even swallowed her bite. Claire looks over at Hael with a smile; Hael realizes her posture is slouched, and she straightens up. Her cheeks are warm.

“Thanks,” Claire says. “The melon’s good too.”

“But I didn’t make the melon, I only cut it.”

“And I didn’t make the eggs, but the chickens did.” Claire shrugs and picks up another piece of green fruit to bring to her upturned lips. Hael’s cheeks grow warmer.

“Uhh,” Hael starts. She doesn’t mean to start so diffidently, and the frustration at doing so makes her grip on her fork tighter. Claire looks at her curiously. Hael glances to Missouri, who gives her a nod. Encouraged, she tries again. “I overheard you and Missouri talking about angelic possession.” Claire holds a frown. “This morning.”

“Okay?” Claire takes a stab at her eggs. Hael swallows as Claire brings the bite up to her mouth.

“You said you didn’t know much about how an angel possesses a human. I can help you. I can teach you everything you need to know.”


	4. Chapter 4

Hael watches the motions of Claire’s body as she jumps onto the bed and crosses her legs; she has the stealth and flexibility Hael would expect from a hunter, and for the first time Hael really gets a glimpse of the kind of hunter Claire is. It’s one thing to hear the intensity in Claire’s voice when she talks about avenging her father, but it’s another to see the smooth, certain way Claire moves. Hael can easily imagine her using her body for more belligerent means. A deadly rival.

“You sure you’re okay with telling me all the trade secrets?” Claire asks once she’s situated. Hael clears her mind with a shake of her head. For some reason, the physical movement helps get rid of the thoughts in a way that simply telling oneself not to think them anymore doesn’t.

“Being an angel isn’t a trade. But essentially, yes. If we’re going to get Castiel, and if we’re going to be partners, you should know as much as I do.”

“Well, I don’t have millions of years under my belt, so that might be a bit hard to cram everything in there,” Claire says, and Hael drops her gaze to Claire’s waistline even knowing Claire must be using an idiom. Her eyes are drawn back up when Claire gestures vaguely with her hand. Hael’s face burns as Claire continues. “We can give it a shot, though.”

“Alright.” Nodding jerkily, Hael takes a deep breath. A part of her that is still loyal to Heaven tells her that this is a bad idea, but an even more influential part of her, the part that is now human and feels human emotions, encourages her.

There’s so much to being an angel, though, and Hael doesn’t know where to begin. At a loss, she trails off before she even begins and looks to Claire for guidance.

“Where should we start?”

Claire licks her lips. “How about… when Missouri and I were talking - is it possible for an angel to step back and let the human take the reigns?”

“It is.”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say, even though it is correct. Claire’s expression freezes and pales. Everything about her looks smaller now, from her shoulders to her knees. The sound of her swallowing reaches Hael’s ears.

On impulse, Hael reaches forward to take Claire’s clammy hand in hers, and she doesn’t let go, even when Claire startles. Josephine held Hael’s hand sometimes, and it always made Hael feel better, though she doesn’t understand why. Maybe the gesture is of comfort to Claire too.

“Missouri told me what happened with Inias,” Hael says. Her voice is soft. “You’re not a killer, Claire. Remember?” She wants Claire to understand that, _needs_ her to. “Claire.”

“I should’ve known.” Claire shakes her head. Her eyes are wet, and her eyelashes glisten. Claire’s voice is thick and derisive. “God, of course. You know, even though I was a vessel once, it’s easy to forget that they aren’t… that they aren’t what they look like. That body isn’t theirs. God, how could I forget?”

A tear falls onto Claire’s cheek, and she wipes it away with the hand holding Hael’s, never letting go of her.

“God forgives you, Claire Novak,” Hael says. Even in the heat of this moment, she relishes the way the name feels leaving her lips. Claire glares with tearful eyes. Hael gives Claire’s hand a squeeze. “The vessels forgive you.”

“How do you know? You still hear them? They talk to you?” Malice drips in every word Claire says. She rips their hands apart. Hael closes her mouth, unable to reply. “I’m sure they’re having a blast up in Heaven while their families go fucking _crazy_ trying to figure out what happened to them. Nobody even sends us postcards or sympathy meals. Nobody tells us what happened to our dads.”

Claire’s anger blows out of her, and she deflates. She won’t look directly at Hael, but Hael doesn’t mind. Hael wants to close herself in a small, dark place where she can be alone and feel. She feels….

Her gaze lands on her legs. They are _her_ legs now. She can flex them - well, the cast on her left thigh prohibits that knee from moving at the moment - put her hands on them, balance stuff on them. But a week ago, this was not the case. A week ago, this body belonged to another.

“My vessel’s name was Penny Britta,” Hael says. “She had a mother and a father, both of whom died when I took Penny as a vessel. My grace blinded them; they panicked, and I was forced to… kill them.” Hael acutely feels Claire’s eyes on her, but she does not look up to see them. Her face burns as the blood beneath the skin heats up. _Guilt. Shame._ “As far as I’m aware, Penny doesn’t have any living family to… go crazy about her disappearance.”

“No friends? Teachers? Enemies?”

Hael shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

She wishes she did, now. Just like Claire wants closure for the disappearance and death of her father, Penny’s friends must want closure. Before Hael became human, when Penny’s soul still resided in this body, Hael could have accessed Penny’s memories and found out. She could have gone to Penny’s friends and told them that Penny had a higher purpose, that she agreed to contain an angel of the Lord.

Claire lets out a large breath. “I think that’s enough for today.” With that, Claire stands up and walks out of the room. Hael stays behind, contemplative and penitent. Many of Claire’s previous words echo in her thoughts until Missouri announces herself with a short knock and then enters. Hael welcomes her with a smile, but it’s forced on her lips and quickly dies.

“What’s on your mind, child?” Missouri asks. The space between her eyes wrinkles. “Everything alright?”

“I’m not sure.” She bites on her bottom lip. Missouri stares down at her. “I’m thinking about my vessel. And Claire’s father. I have so many thoughts….”

It would have been easy to occupy several thoughts at once as an angel. Now, Hael has so many and it’s overwhelming. They often repeat, get stuck, lost, confused; and so Hael becomes stuck, lost, confused, too; like a ghost.

Missouri reenters Hael’s vision, and just by being there she reminds Hael to breathe. Hael murmurs a thank you. Silence expands between them until -

“Have you ever communed with souls?” Hael asks. She watches Missouri’s expression carefully, but it doesn’t change nor answer her question. “Not those who remain on Earth, but those who have already found peace in Heaven,” she clarifies.

Missouri nods deliberately. “Once.”

“Would you commune with Claire’s father?”

Seemingly surprised by Hael’s request, Missouri remains still. “You know, it ain’t my business to mess with Heaven’s business.”

“But it’s important!” Doesn’t Missouri understand that? Licking her lips, Hael tries again. “It’s for Claire. I think it would be good for her.”

“There’s a point to bein’ dead.” Missouri looks at Hael as if she’s said something blasphemous. “Nobody gets to bother you anymore, nobody’s supposed to talk to you anymore.

“Who did you speak with before?” Hael demands. Missouri does not look at her. “Was it a family member? Someone… someone you loved?”

“You mind your mouth, girl.” Missouri points a finger and stares down from it at Hael. “It’ll get you in trouble one day.”

But she is already in trouble, and she didn’t have to speak a word to land in it.

Missouri retreats, her wide hips swaying against the door and opening it further; she does not bother to close it before disappearing entirely from view.

Why must humans be so frustrating? Hael flexes her jaw and her fists, finding a small relief in the actions. If Missouri won’t help her, maybe Hael can contact Claire’s father herself. She may not be clairvoyant, but she was an angel and is even more familiar with the spirit world than a normal medium, certainly much more than Missouri. It’ll be easy.

Hael has never been a destroyer, only a creator and a muse. She will create for Claire an opportunity she thought to be lost forever. She will build a bridge between Earth and Heaven. She will make Claire feel good.

Resolved, Hael unlocks her brakes and maneuvers herself out of the room. She is alight with an inside fire, a drive, an energy. She has a mission to accomplish, and she feels… purposeful.

She wheels through the hall, passing closed doors and the paintings on the wall. She stops at the front door and stares at it, but before she can determine how best to open it and leave, Missouri bellows from behind.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

Hael turns around, and the retort dancing on the tip of her tongue dies at what she sees.

The table they ate dinner and breakfast at has been cleaned and is now covered in a white linen on which sigils have been drawn. In the focus stands unlit candles, and where Missouri sat for each of their meals is an open tome.

The drive within Hael subsides. “Missouri?”

Missouri stands in the doorway between the dining table and the kitchen. She gestures with an object in her hand to the table. “Well?”

“I thought-”

“I’m sure you’ve thought a lot of things.” Is that smile meant to demean her? “You finish setting up, and I’ll go get Claire, hmm?”

Hael nods absently while Missouri makes her way to the stairs. She rolls herself as close to table as possible and gapes. Missouri’s sigil work is remarkable; Hael’s never seen such mastery before, even from an angel, even from herself.

The sound of footsteps descending the stairs breaks Hael out of her reverie. Even though Claire is much lighter than Missouri, her footsteps are more thunderous, like an elephant stomping in the dust. Her face is red; she wipes her nose with her sleeve. Hael watches Claire carefully, not even wanting to blink in case she misses the minute, unidentifiable changes in her expression. “What’s all this about?”

“On the other side, dear,” Missouri corrects. She points Claire to the position opposite Hael, and though she reacts slowly, she takes the seat. Meanwhile, Missouri closes the curtains of two windows and turns off all the lights, throwing the room in shade.

“What is this?” Claire whispers. Her voice is so fragile it could break.

“This is a seance,” Hael whispers back. “We’re going to talk to your dad.”

Claire’s eyes widen, and her breath hitches. “Really?”

“Really.” Hael nods. “Now is the best time to do this, too. Since the angels have fallen, there is no one in Heaven to discover our activity. Theoretically you have all the time we can give you.” Hael is determined to give Claire all the time she wants, even if it exhausts her.

“You did this for me?” Claire’s lips tremble into a smile.

A warm ache blossoms in Hael’s chest. “Missouri did all of the work, but it was my idea. I was ready to do all this for you. Claire, I don’t understand, but - I like it when you’re happy. This will make you happy, although you’re crying?”

Claire rubs beneath her nose with her sleeve again. When she lifts her head, her smile is larger. “They’re happy tears, now, Hael. Thank you so much.”

Claire moves her chair closer to Hael and hugs her. Her embrace is crushing but Hael doesn’t mind. She wraps her arms around Claire and hugs her back.

This time, neither of them pulls away first. Instead, Missouri interrupts them by drawing out her chair, and they break apart simultaneously. A blush spreads across Hael’s cheeks. Chin tucked down, she glances at Claire to see she is also blushing; it makes her smile.

Using a tool that looks like a plastic stick with a handle, Missouri creates a flame and uses it to light the candles. A yellow glow flickers across Claire’s face, reflecting in her wet eyes like the first rays of sun appearing from behind the moon.

“Now, I need something that belonged to Jimmy,” Missouri says. Claire tears her gaze away from the candles, a hand flying to her breasts. “It’ll be okay, darling. You can have it back when we’re through.”

“O-okay.” Still, Claire hesitates to lift the necklace hiding beneath her shirt. A silver ring hangs from the vertex; it gleams in the candlelight. With the utmost care, Claire unclasps the ring from the necklace and places it in Missouri’s outstretched palm.

Missouri holds the ring for several moments, eyes closed and eyebrows creased, as she familiarizes herself with the energy in it. Hael wonders what she’s found.

“Would you like to find out?” Missouri asks, opening an eye.

Realizing Missouri is responding to her thoughts, Hael blinks. “Really?”

“If it’s okay with Claire,” Missouri says.

“What’s that?” Claire asks.

Missouri pinches the ring between two fingers. It’s a simple silver ring, much too large to reasonably fit any of Claire’s fingers. “Right now, I’m using psychometry to feel Jimmy’s energy on the ring. It’ll help locate him in Heaven. Can Hael try to see if she picks up anything as well? It may make it easier to find him.”

Claire swallows. “Sure. Go ahead,” she says, nodding faintly at Hael.

“Thank you.” Hael smiles, but Claire does not smile back; instead, she seems lost in her mind.

Missouri lays the ring in Hael’s hand. “Now, focus, dear. Familiarize yourself with its energy.”

Hael shuts her eyes tight and closes her hands over the ring. After moments of not being able to sense anything at all, there is finally a glimmer. But it isn’t a foreign energy; it feels very familiar, like Claire.

She frowns.

“All I sense is Claire.”

“Go deeper,” Missouri says. “Curl back those layers until you find it.”

Her frown deepens.  As an angel, this would have been second nature. Now, her human mind isn’t equipped to think of metaphysics in the way she requires.

But then she starts to feel Claire’s energy fading away as she goes further into the object. And there, deep and hidden, is a glimmer energy that belongs to a man with dark hair and Claire’s blue eyes. He looks like Castiel. Hael’s eyes fly open, and she loses the image, but the imprint remains.

“His name was Jimmy,” she gasps, looking up. Missouri smiles at her.

“Good job,” she says with a nod. “Now, place the ring here, and let us hold hands.”

With all of their hands clasped together, Missouri begins the chant. The words draw archaic power from Hael’s bones. She shakes and glows as Heaven raises its natural defenses against Missouri’s spell, but Missouri is too good a psychic for even Heaven’s gates, and the veil thins enough for Hael to hear whisperings from the other side. At first there are many voices in many languages, both new and ancient, devastatingly loud, but like sand in an hourglass, they all slip away until only one remains.

Hael cannot see the owner of the voice exactly, but she has the impression that he is sitting in a moving chair with a young girl curled up at his side and book open in his hands. He reads aloud, “I’ll love you forever. I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”

Claire’s eyes shine and spill over with tears. Her voice is small when she reaches out. “Daddy?”

Static fills the space between Heaven and Earth, like a question.

“Claire?”

 

+

“What’s happening?” Jimmy demands. He sounds nothing like Castiel, not in tone nor inflection. How different does he look compared to Castiel as well? Would Claire recognize Jimmy’s body with Castiel walking around in it?

Everything is so overwhelming, as is the nature of Heaven to a mere human; and with many other senses for her brain to process, Hael almost shuts down, but she endures for Claire. This is Claire’s chance to say goodbye to her father.

“Hi, daddy. It’s so good to hear your voice.”

“What’s happening?”

“Mr Novak,” Missouri says, “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Missouri; I’m a friend of your daughter’s. I know this is very confusing for you, but it’s all right. Claire is fine.”

“I’m fine.” Claire sniffs. She pulls on Hael’s arm, then relaxes it again. “I miss you so much, daddy.”

“I miss you, too. But… I was just reading you a bedtime story. I don’t understand….”

“Missouri performed a seance so we can talk. That’s not me up there. Not the real me.”

“I know. But it’s _you_. Claire, I miss you and your mother so much. How is she?”

“Mom?” For several moments, Hael doesn’t think Claire will continue. She’s-”

“She’s doing fine,” Missouri cuts in. Claire exhales heavily. “She’s not around right now, but she’s doing well.”

“Oh. You’ll tell her how much I love her, right, Claire? She’s not here, like you are. There’s no… facsimile of her.”

That surprises Hael out of her foggy state of mind. “They must be soulmates,” she says. Heaven cannot or will not provide a likeness for a departed soul’s soulmate. 

“Who is that?” Jimmy asks. Hael realizes she hasn’t spoken before now.

“That’s Hael,” Claire says before Hael can find her voice again. “She’s… my friend.”

“We’re friends?” Hael’s never had a friend before. Every fiber in her being feels like it’s softened, and she struggles momentarily to retain the connection. Missouri squeezes her hand as she takes some of the burden, and Hael feels less like she’s drowning and more like she’s treading water.

“Yeah. She used to be an angel.”

“That makes sense,” Jimmy says. Was that sarcasm? “What have you been up to lately, Claire? How are you?”

Claire launches into telling her father what has happened to her since he died, but she leaves out crucial details. Why doesn’t she tell him that she hunts angels in a quest to avenge his wrongful death? Why doesn’t she tell him the truth about her mother?

Instead, Claire tells him about graduating from high school with a three point seven GPA, even though it was hard to do. She tells him about a book she read that reminded her of him. She explains to him that the angels fell a week ago, and ever since she’s been trying to find Castiel, but she doesn’t say for what purpose.

“Wow.” Jimmy pauses. “I hope Cas is okay.”

“Castiel?” Claire asks. “You hope he’s okay? Dad, he killed you!”

“No, he didn’t; an archangel did. He was trying to do the right thing, and I was trying to do the right thing. It’s okay, Claire, it’s okay.”

“But he took you away from me! He tore our family apart! Mom’s not around because she went crazy after that demon possessed her. That’s _his_ fault.”

“Claire-”

Claire’s grip is crushing.

In a gentle voice, Jimmy says, “I forgive him, Claire. You should, too.”

“How can I?”

“I don’t know. Just don’t let your animosity overcome you. Accept that what’s done is done, and move on, baby girl.”

Claire sniffs. “I can do that, daddy.”

“I’m not sure how much longer we can hold the seance. Tapping into Heaven takes a lot of work.”

“So this is goodbye?”

“I love you, Claire. Stay safe. Maybe we can do this again sometime.”

“Maybe.” Claire sniffs again.

All of a sudden, the candles snuff out, and energy in the room drops; Hael didn’t realize how heavy it was until it’s gone. She gasps for breath, a hand on her chest.

Missouri pats her back. “I’m sorry, Hael. I didn’t realize how much power this would take from you.”

“It’s okay,” Hael gasps. “I’m glad. Claire? Was that good?”

Claire chokes on a watery laugh. She reaches over to hold Hael’s hand again and strokes with her thumb. “Of course, dumbass.” Her smile wobbles, but Hael thinks it’s genuine.

It’s easy to stare at Claire and take in every detail about her. She isn’t wearing makeup around her eyes anymore, but her cheeks are still very pink. Her nose is runny and red. Hael feels a pull in her chest, attracting her to Claire, and she realizes that Claire is staring back.

She remembers watching the television program in her hospital room about federal crimes and the people who solved them with their erroneous science. Though the characters lacked chemistry, many of them still liked to press their lips against one another’s and kiss. What would it be like if Hael pressed her lips to Claire’s? The thought of doing so makes her heart feel like it’s fluttering.

“Claire, take Hael to bed,” Missouri says, jarring Hael out of her thoughts. The staring spell she and Claire were under breaks as Claire looks at Missouri. “Poor dear needs to rest a long while.”

“Rodger that.” Claire smiles and stands up. Had Hael not been so exhausted, she would have insisted that she could wheel herself to bed, but she doesn’t even have the strength to speak. Claire pushes Hael to the bedroom and helps her into the bed. She pulls the blanket up to Hael’s chest, then sits on the edge of the bed. Hael is glad she isn’t leaving yet. She wants her to stay, perhaps lay down beside her.

Again, Claire says, “Thank you so much. That meant the world to me.”

Hael smiles, loose with exhaustion. “You’re welcome.”

The world narrows into blurry slits as exhaustion attempts to overcome Hael and force her to sleep. But she wants to stay awake and stare at the pink of Claire’s cheeks.

Claire reaches a hand out and brushes hair away from Hael’s face. Her touch is as light as a feather, and Hael knows she is safe. Her eyes flutter closed, and she sighs.

Where would she be without Claire? How much more lost, lonely, and confused would she be? They only met a short time ago, but already Hael trusts her like she does her own siblings. There is something intrinsic and automatic about the connection she feels with Claire. It occurs to Hael that this may just be because she is human now with human emotions and hungers. If she had been found by another hunter, or if she had stayed at the hospital with Josephine, would a similar connection have developed between them and Hael, or is there just something about Claire?

The mattress dips beside her. Hael turns her head, opens her eyes, and locks gazes with Claire. Their heads are on different pillows, and there are a few inches of space between their bodies. Hael's heart beats faster.

"Thank you," Claire says again. She leans in enough for her warm breath to ghost over Hael's face. An instinct tells Hael to close her eyes, so she does, and she waits. Then, amazingly, Claire's lips press upon her forehead. Only a moment passes before Claire leans back again. Hael's eyes fly open, and she meets Claire's gaze.

“Was that okay?” Claire asks.

Hael smiles. "I liked that," she says, and unconsciousness steals her away.

+

Five days later, they are on the road. Missouri wants them to stay with her for longer while Hael continues to heal, but Claire describes a feeling of restlessness that Hael finds she relates to, so they pack their meager belongings into bags and drive, promising to come back soon.

“First thing’s first,” Claire says, tossing her phone into Hael’s lap. “Google directions to the Grand Canyon.”

“Google? Is that a verb? What does that mean?” Hael presses the singular button on the phone’s face, and the screen lights up with a photo of Claire and her family at Disney World. The still image of Claire does not much look like the living being sitting next to her in the car, but Hael can see the similarities. Likewise, the man in the picture does not look like Castiel: he is smiling and has one arm wrapped around his wife’s waist and one hand on Claire’s shoulder.

“Fuck. Slide to unlock; it says right there on the screen.”

“I remember how to do that,” Hael says. Claire taught her several days ago. She follows the instruction and is taken to another screen where a wall of squares - _apps_ \- wait to be selected.

“The very bottom right app is Chrome. Click that.”

Tapping her finger on the screen leads the app to fill the screen. After waiting several moments, the app finishes loading. It’s left on the screen Claire used last night when she wanted honey mustard dressing on her salad and needed a recipe.

“There should be a bar at the top,” Claire says. “Click the space in the very middle. It’s the search bar.”

Doing so summons the keyboard and darkens a portion of the screen. Hael looks up, awaiting the next instructions.

“Now type in ‘Lawrence, Kansas to Grand Canyon’ and _enter_. Then it’ll give you a map and maybe some directions?”

It doesn’t display the directions right away after she finished typing and sending the inquiry, but there is an option for directions if she presses a button. She presses it and squints at the new page.

“Via US-54 W and I-40 W? Seventeen hours and twenty minutes without traffic. One thousand, one hundred, forty three miles.”

“Sure. Click it.”

“It says this route has tolls.”

“Then we’ll pay them. Or not.” Claire shrugs, and then she laughs. “Okay, how does it want us to get there? What’s the first step?”

“Head north toward Massachusetts Street.”

Claire snorts. “I don’t even know where that is. Next.”

“Turn right onto Massachusetts Street.”

“Next.”

“Massachusetts Street turns slightly right and becomes North 2nd Street.”

“Is there anything about Interstate 70 on there?”

Hael scrolls down until she finds it. “Yes. At the traffic circle, take the first exit onto the Interstate 70 West slash Kansas Turnpike ramp. Then it wants you to merge onto I-70 West. And… after that you have to keep left at the… at the fork to continue on I-470 West.” Hael screws her face up. “Human roads and maps are confusing.”

“Yeah, but they’re really helpful. Would you really rather make this trip through the wilderness on a wagon, Oregon Trail style?”

Even though she doesn’t understand what ‘Oregon Trail style’ is, Hael answers immediately. “Yes.” She vastly prefers the earth without human alterations like roads and cities. So much natural beauty has been cut, starved, and forgotten about in humanity’s need to expand. She hopes with every fiber of her being that her canyon has remained untouched, though she has little optimism that is has.

Claire rolls her eyes. “You’re going to die of dysentery.”

“That’s highly unlikely.”

Claire stops the car behind a line of others, and she rolls her eyes again. “Doof,” she mutters with half a smile.

“Bonehead,” Hael counters.

Claire’s smile widens, and she leans across the space between them to kiss Hael on the lips.

 


End file.
